


Amongst Dreaming Spires, Entwined

by evil_bunny_king



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (technically) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Concept Art Solas, Deja Vu, F/M, Fun and silly romp, Harried Grad Student AU, Oxford AU, Solas is Not a Professor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was, quite innocuously, reading. A collection of idle movements: the caress of a turning page, the shift of grip up a tattered spine, the flutter of eyelashes as his gaze flicked through sentences.</p><p>She’d only noticed she’d been staring when he looked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amongst Dreaming Spires, Entwined

She saw him for the first time an early May evening, when the daylight was lengthening at last, sunlight smoothing warm fingers through the budding trees bordering the avenue. She had been in a hurry, coat thrown carelessly over her shoulders as she dodged meandering passer-byes. The move was well practised - honed after months of winding through the human-clogged streets of Oxford, the colleges spilling their clutches of students into the ever-growing mire of tourists. Nevertheless it was becoming almost impossible, now, as summer deigned at last to approach.

She should be more patient, she knew - after all she had been among them more than once, gazing up at the dreaming spires with wide, awestruck eyes (naive). And she would’ve been - if she wasn’t already so damn  _late_  to her tutorial (as always) and cut off (as always) by a veritable river of writhing humanity.

She almost hadn’t noticed him. Leant against one of the elms, he echoed their stillness, the barest of breezes stirring the open cuffs of an off-white shirt.

But then there had been - something, some way about him that drew her eye. Something more than just his apparent calm amidst the turmoil of Trinity term. She couldn’t explain it. Not beyond a wishy-washy notion of him having this familiarity (as odd as that was) and this presence, one that snared her attention even as she wallowed.

Somehow, she felt, against all rational thought, she _knew_ him.

He was, quite innocuously, reading. A collection of idle movements: the caress of a turning page, grip shifting up a tattered spine; the flutter of eyelashes as his gaze flicked through sentences. Spiders-legged shadows skittered across brown cheeks, the coils of his dark hair spilling across broad shoulders - ribs of shadow, stark against the linen.

She’d only noticed she’d been staring when the slam of a front door caused him to look up.

For a moment, his eyes caught hers. They looked grey, pupils shrunk against a rogue shaft of sunlight; soft edged and yet still somehow sharp. She glanced away, but not quickly enough; a flood of mortification flooded through her, creeping up her neck as she focused fastidiously on the boundary wall of the college ahead, forcing herself to examine its details (mm, Harris Manchester had finished its clock tower at last. Fascinating).

But she could feel his gaze, almost like it was a physical thing - bemused, she had no doubt, by the frazzled student who’d gawked at him while storming down the street with her book-laden backpack. She curled further into coat.

_Oh Lavellan, Lavellan. Embarrassment on top of impending humiliation - just what you needed!_

It was a relief when rapid footsteps broke the silence, a couple of older, well-dressed women emerging from the building opposite him. She let out a smothered sigh as he turned away, suppressing her curiosity when his movement stretched into a step, the subject of her attention raising a hand to the women in greeting.

With an exertion of will, she muscled her gaze away.

No, she’d never met him before -she was certain. He wasn’t someone that you were likely to forget - striking was a word for it - and in any case, she had enough to worry about. The future of her academic career remained to be decided (what remained of it), as well as other, equally important concerns. A misplaced sense of deja vu could wait.

She shifting further towards the curb when she passed the chatting group, studiously not noticing the way he had carefully closed his book, or the smooth timbre of his deep voice, overheard in fragments of phrases (cultured, and once again familiar, lilted with an accent she couldn’t place).

Until she saw him again, that is.

**Author's Note:**

> Teehee. Cheesy title is cheesy, haha. Lavellan is not Abora this time (Abora would handle university VERY differently). Also, I _am_ still writing Open Wide - I just recently figured out the wonderfully AU direction I want it to go in and am currently giving it a more concrete plan, which is part of a reason for the delay. The other part is that I'm back at Uni with a veritable mountain of work. Wah.
> 
> Not much to say otherwise. This may at some point be continued, but as of 11/11/2015 I can say it's a little too tangled with things I'd rather not think about at the moment for me to work with it. I'm sorry!
> 
> Harris Manchester's clock tower does still have the most annoying/reassuring phrase inscribed on it in huge letters for all passing students, though:
> 
> 'It's later than you think...'  
> 'But it's never too late.'


End file.
